The Untold
by LeCastor
Summary: Fandom: Angels in America by Tony Kushner. Hannah Pitt and Prior Walter have lots of things on theirs mind. They don't need many words to understand each other. Yuletide New Year Resolutions 2009 Challenge fic. ONE SHOT.


Sometimes, Hannah sat back in the little flat in which she lived alone, and left herself to reflect on the boy she'd come to think of as a son. He was old enough for it, after all - there wasn't anything unnatural in that. Sometimes, however, she got lost in her thoughts even in Prior's company, much to her shame. Even at the hospital.

Prior Walter was sweet, intelligent, and very ill, though he had better days lately.

He was also homosexual.

One day, Prior had told her that he'd had a dream about Harper. Hannah hadn't reacted otherwise than with a quiet, listening sound. She'd grown used to making those, by now - between Louis and Prior, there was much listening to be done, not to mention her true-born wayward son.

It wasn't about idea of him, or Prior, or any of those good, decent young men sleeping with each other that bothered her. It was the fact that she'd had sex, yes, sex, with an angel, an angel that looked female, and that it had been good. Orgasmic. Stellar. A divine encounter of mind-bending proportions. A myriad colors had flashed before her eyes, her body had tingled all over, her mind - her soul - had spread and stretched into infinity that verged on oblivion, and then... and then, nothing, the mundane and the sad, the illness.  
And the realization.

Gender and sex - two things that were one in her mind, ever since she'd been a little girl in Salt Lake, going to church and singing hymns with young, ignorant faith. Gender and sex had suddenly dissociated in her mind, and she now was floating in a confusion of new concepts, new ideas that made her bend over with the force of the revelation.

So how was it that she could love Prior Walter so much, and be so angry at her own son? How was it that she could feel hatred towards her boy?

It had come to her one day, clear as morning light in the little moments of dawn, when the city is silent with only the buzz of traffic lights and the tuff tuff of early deliveries.

Truth.

Prior had never given up on truth. Joe - Joe had learned to lie so much, that he had barely the ability to be himself. And yet - it seemed unfair to call Joe a liar, because the first person he ever lied to was himself. Then again, was she even honest with herself ?

"Penny for your thoughts," Prior's deep voice came, calm and open, but tired, too. She stirred almost reluctantly out of her contemplation.  
She sighed, took a breath and smoothed her pants, even if they weren't rumpled in the least. "I was thinking of the Angel," she blurted out, before she realized she had. It might have been a thought aloud, more than an admission.

"Ah, yes, the great Hallucination," he replied, tartly, tiredly. "The Carrier of the Book, I I I I Am the Bird of America..." Hannah found his tone mocking - irreverent, angry even, but then he turned to her again. "What about it?"

It. Not her. Not him. It.

"I don't think there was ever any precedent for what happened, that night," she said, carefully.

"Well, at least I didn't end up in a whale. That was a bonus, wasn't it?" He was trying to sound cheerful, she could tell.

"Yes, it's a good sign, I suppose." There was another break, then. "What happened?"

"Apparently, God took a vacation - an extensive one. I told the Angels to sue his ass if he came back."

It was all that Hannah could do not to gape. "You told them what?" But then, the laughter was almost irrepressible, a nervous thing that garbled up her throat, charged with denial and derision. "Really?"

If there was anything about Prior, it was that he told it like it was - no embellishments, no rationalizations, no lies. Truth, his truth, bare like the little Infant Jesus in the crib. He was the bringer or revelation, a prophet in his own way, god-appointed or not.

"Really." He fiddled with the IV he was hooked on - only another week, they said, and he could go home. If his CD4 count went up. If. She prayed for him, secretly, but Hannah wouldn't tell him that, especially not now.

"Well then," she said, after a moment. "I should go home."

Prior's hand squeezed on hers, tighter. "Don't. It's still visiting hours. Please, stay." There was a lengthy pause before he admitted what she already knew. "I don't want to be alone."

She stayed, calmly sitting in the rigid, beige chair. Why did these hospital rooms always seem so sad? You'd think the patients there were already dead, she mused. "Alright. I can stay a bit longer."

Another beat in the conversation, and the angel returned on his tongue. "Hannah?"

"Yes?" Her tone was patient, motherly.

"How was it?" Prior didn't need to tell her what he was talking about - the unspoken bond of shared experience had been between them ever since that fateful night. She felt her cheeks turn to burning crimson.

"It was good," she replied, after a moment - the words were so inadequate, so insufficient. But how could you describe mating with an Angel?

He nodded, after a beat. "I know."

She smiled, a little, patted his hand. "I know you know," she said, gently, trying to be sweet, doing well enough with it, she thought.

They didn't have that much time left, she realized. The nurse wandered in, checked the drip in the midst of their shared silence, and left.

"Hannah?" He sounded so tired... In those moments, she wanted to cradle him in her arms like an infant, even if he was taller than her. Even if he was sick. Infected, as he claimed often. Even if...

"Yes?" Again, she was attentive, worrying, even. The words came out of Prior's mouth, chapped and dry and pale with disease. They made her heart clench.

"I love you."


End file.
